


One spell not to discover what My Friend is doing Presently

by Nefertiti_22002



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefertiti_22002/pseuds/Nefertiti_22002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Norrell is happy to be back at Hurtfew, even in the Darkness. Mr Strange accuses him of not wanting to help him return to Arabella and uses some harsh words. Mr Norrell casts a spell so that they cannot see or hear each other, assuming it will help them work without acrimony. Mystification, resentment, loneliness and humor result, concluded by reunion and smut. (Explicit in third chapter.)</p><p>In response to a kinkmeme prompt (by Predatrix) for Mr Strange to be pissed-off to the point where Mr Norrell reacts with an invisibility spell and then wonders why he's not really very happy being alone in his beautiful library.</p><p>Thanks once more to beta extraordinaire, Sarah!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spell Is Cast

ONE EVENING A FEW DAYS AFTER ARABELLA STRANGE’S DISENCHANTMENT 

Mr Norrell gave a sigh of delight. He had finally found Sutton-Grove! Smiling, he took it over to his desk and sought for a favourite passage. At intervals he sipped from a cup of chocolate placed on a low table next to his chair. Thus he kept the book and the cup far apart, carefully leaning over the arm of his chair each time he put his lips to the rim.

Mr Strange was eagerly examining each book he picked up, reading the title page and flipping through before setting it on a growing stack of volumes to be put away. He turned and stared at Norrell, sitting happily at his desk.

“What are you doing?”

Mr Norrell looked up, smiling and sporting a faint chocolate mustache. “I am enjoying being back in my library after such a long absence. I have missed it so. I am free at last from the demands of the Admiralty. After all, the war is over, and I can retire here to do the magic that I want to do.” He looked around at the carved bookshelves, glowing in the light of many candles. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“Yes, but at the moment I cannot enjoy it. Are we not supposedly turning all our effects to dispelling the Darkness and breaking the magical bonds between us?”

Mr Norrell’s pleased smile disappeared. “Well, I suppose we shall work on those problems, yes, but I feel justified in relaxing for just a bit and savoring my return. I have not seen most of these books for ten years now. They are like old friends to me.”

“Relaxing! Mr Norrell, I am desperate to return to my wife. I need your help, and you sit there sipping chocolate quite contentedly, as if you haven’t a care in the world.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Would you like some? I’m sure we can find another cup—ˮ

“No! That is not the point. Will you or will you not take more seriously this problem of me being entirely cut off from Arabella?”

Mr Norrell was flustered by his harsh tone, and he found himself becoming upset. “Really, Mr Strange, I did not realize that you were so very eager to get started on that project. After all, we are quite comfortable here. The other night, when I told you that Mrs Strange was in Italy and hence free of her enchantment, you said nothing. The news seemed not to affect you greatly. You certainly did not smile or say anything that would suggest your happiness at her freedom. So naturally I assumed that there was no great urgency in our finding a way out of the Darkness.”

“Oh, NATURALLY you assumed that, did you? There is nothing natural in that assumption. Surely anyone would have grasped that I was overcome at your news. I had struggled and learned and finally dared a great deal in order to rescue Arabella, and my initial reaction was immense relief, as well as a joy so deep that it went beyond words.

“But YOU, you have never been married, never loved anyone as I love Bell. Instead you lock yourself up with your books. You could have no idea what I felt. Now, let your books do us further service by yielding up a spell that could complete my quest and allow me to rejoin the wife you helped me to save!”

Mr Norrell stood up and without looking at Mr Strange said quietly, “Yes, yes, I should be happy to help you with your search. For tonight, however, I think we have done—and said—enough. I bid you good-night, Mr Strange.”

With that he took up his lamp and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, confused, appalled, and not a little annoyed. 

Once alone in his room, he sat on the edge of his bed to think.

What Mr Strange had said was so unkind! How was he to know that Mr Strange was so very relieved and joyful when Mrs Strange was released from her enchantment and transported to Italy if Mr Strange did not tell him so? He had seemed just to stare into space and then said not a single word concerning the matter.

Moreover, Mr Strange had just seen the Hurtfew library for the first time. How could he wish to leave so soon, without exploring it, without having long and wonderful conversations about all sorts of magical topics? He did not appear to be suitably grateful for the opportunity that he, Mr Norrell, had offered him long ago, when Mr Strange announced that he was no longer his pupil. That opportunity had been long delayed, but here they were at last. Mr Norrell was quite willing to show Mr Strange any volume in his library, save a few very dangerous ones which he himself had never opened. Yet he talked of nothing but leaving.

He was very fond of Mr Strange—more than fond, in fact—and yet the man who had been so impatient and angry that night was not the same Mr Strange that he had known before their parting. Perhaps the rumours that he had heard concerning the other magician’s madness in Venice and even the black magic that he had supposedly done in Portugal might be true!

Reluctant though he would be to see Mr Strange depart, it seemed the best course of action. If only Mr Strange could leave Hurtfew and go to Italy and let Mr Norrell go back to his old way of life. But Mr Strange could not leave. Wherever he went, the Pillar of Darkness would follow him, and so perforce would Mr Norrell. Mr Strange had to stay here, to use the finest magical library in England to try and find the counterspell to the Fairy’s curse.

Mr Norrell realized that he would have to cooperate in the search, as he had agreed to do. Having Mr Strange at Hurtfew just stirred up the old heartache that he had carried hidden within him for so many years. How ironic that Mr Strange of all people should accuse him of never having loved anyone! Now he had left London and his Admiralty duties and was rid of Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles. He could read and try new spells for his own pleasure. He could struggle to give up his silly fantasies about Mr Strange. Alone and peaceful.

Really, he thought, he could not face Mr Strange again, not after his bitter accusations and even taunting. His mind wandered into schemes to divide up the house, with Mr Strange taking a bedroom in the other wing. Perhaps they could each have a set amount of time to work alone in the library, and once it expired for one, the other would have the same duration to occupy the room. They could take the books that they needed to their own rooms to read and also install desks, shelves and tables there. 

But no, that was hardly practical. What of the kitchen? They were bound to meet there occasionally. And their methods of time-telling—mainly with hourglasses—were so imprecise. They would inevitably bump into each other in the library itself, whatever sort of schedule they set up. No, such meetings were intolerable.

Suddenly the solution dawned on him. He recalled a spell he had read long ago, one which rendered two people invisible to each other. Without stopping long enough to lose his courage and determination, he crept back to the library with his lamp. He noted a faint light coming from under the door of Mr Strange’s bedroom, so he felt safe from an accidental encounter. Swiftly he stole down to the library, located the book he was after, and took it back up to his room, also taking with him his silver basin and the pitcher of clean water that the two of them had fetched from the river that day.

He read over the spell and realized that it was very general and would need several specifications added. Sitting down at the small desk in his bedroom, he devised simple conditions that would keep the two magicians separate even if they happened to occupy the same room. They were to be not only invisible but incorporeal as well, so that they could not bump into each other. Anything they wore or handled or touched would also be invisible and intangible and would remain so for, oh, how long? Half an hour, he decided, before the item became visible again. That way, if they remained for a time in the same room, they need not necessarily be aware of it at all. 

He paused for a moment’s thought. If time had stopped within the Darkness, would the half-hour stipulation be practicable? He suspected that the magic would be able to tell time, even if their clocks could not.

Mr Norrell proceeded to write out the spell, very precisely and carefully. At last it seemed to be finished, and he filled his basin and read the spell out in a murmur as his hand hovered over the water.

He felt the magic working, though nothing visibly happened. Of course, he had expected that. He would only know how well the spell had worked the next morning. He thought he would be too nervous about the whole thing to sleep at all, but finally he dropped off and got a few hours of repose.

++++++++++++++

The next morning Mr Strange woke up, interrupting as he did so a particularly nasty dream. In the period of his madness, he had been prey to regular nightmares, but he had not expected one now that Arabella was safe.

As he rose and dressed, he realized that he had been overly harsh with Mr Norrell the night before. The older man had never married and for decades remained isolated from all but his own household staff. He simply could not understand his urgent desire to return to Arabella. Naturally he would not. It was not his fault. He felt badly for some of the things he had said and determined to apologize when he met Mr Norrell for breakfast or in the library.

Mr Norrell was not in the kitchen, however, and there was no sign of his having partaken of breakfast. The library was empty, looking much as it had the night before when they had gone their separate ways so acrimoniously. Mr Strange went up to Mr Norrell’s bedroom and knocked softly at the door. Receiving no response, he opened it and looked in. The bed had been slept in but was empty. Stepping a short way into the room, he determined that Mr Norrell was not in the adjacent dressing room or bathroom either. Oddly, the bathroom, though otherwise very lavishly equipped, seemed to lack that one essential ingredient of such a room—a bathtub.

Thwarted in his search, he returned to the kitchen to snatch a quick bite to eat before returning to the library. He began slowly to sort more books, glancing occasionally into one that looked like it might contain useful advice or spells dealing with fairy curses.

++++++++++++++++++

Upstairs Mr Norrell was soaking longer than usual in his habitual morning bath. He wondered if he had been wise to cast the invisibility spell, but it still seemed a good solution for avoiding recriminations and other unpleasantness between him and Mr Strange. Now, he thought, getting out of the tub and toweling himself dry, for some breakfast and a lovely day in the library. Assuming the spell had worked, that is.

Down in the kitchen he looked around for some sign of Mr Strange. Apart from some dirty dishes heaped in the wash-basin, there was nothing noticeable. Mr Norrell frowned and tried to recollect if those dirty dishes had been there last night. He could not remember. If they were Mr Strange’s, he reflected, they would have to make some arrangements about taking turns at washing the utensils used for the meals. They could eventually start leaving notes for each other, but he was inclined not to try and contact Mr Strange yet, in case he was still in the unfriendly mood he had been in the previous night.

He managed to make some toast, which, when generously spread with preserves, did not taste particularly burnt. He had better luck with the preparation of hot chocolate, and soon he was eating his breakfast in the dining room. He did so with a sense of peace, the peace of solitude. 

Upon entering the library, he noticed at once that the large table that customarily stood in the center of the room was missing, along with the chair that usually stood beside it. He found himself tiptoeing as he entered the room, and avoiding the area where Mr Strange was presumably working. Then he emitted a small chuckle, realising that the other magician could neither see nor hear him. 

This was the ideal opportunity to test the efficacy of the spell. He walked over to where the table customarily stood and through the area it would have occupied. There was no resistance from any invisible person or piece of furniture. Of course, Mr Strange might have been there and left less than thirty minutes before, so the test was not absolute proof that he was indeed still in the room. 

But the spell seemed to be working! Mr Norrell called out Mr Strange’s name, but only silence followed.

He was tempted to sit and read, but there was still much sorting and repairing of books to be done. He began picking up volumes and stacking them in the empty shelves where they belonged, preparatory to a final sorting and careful arrangement of them side by side, as they had been before the chaos of ravens had turned his library into such a mess. Any that he considered relevant to breaking the fairy’s curse he set aside for closer study.

As he passed the fireplace, he stopped to stare, for a fire was blazing there, and yet there were no logs below the flames. Mr Norrell noted that the poker was also apparently missing. He looked around again, but saw nothing else unusual. He smiled and returned to his work.

A short time later, he glanced across and saw a book suddenly appear, apparently hovering in space about where the tabletop would be. So the magic could tell time, as he suspected. Mr Strange must have set that book down half an hour ago. Yes, the spell was indeed working exactly as it had been intended to. 

++++++++++++++++++

Mr Strange sat diligently at the library table for a few hours, skimming through some of the more promising books that he had found. There was one spell that sounded as if it might work, providing it could be refined by the two magicians. It was very obscure in parts, however, and he wished Mr Norrell would arrive soon so that he could ask him some questions.

Eventually his stomach began to tell him it was time for lunch. Perhaps he would find Mr Norrell in the kitchen or dining room, and he could finally make his apology.

As he walked toward the library door, he realized that he had forgotten to add any wood to the fire. There it was, however, with the flames licking even higher than before. But oddly enough, they hung in mid-air, for there seemed to be no wood at all in the grate—and the poker was gone. Something, he realized, was amiss, but what?

Not finding Mr Norrell in either the kitchen or the dining room, he again went to the other magician’s bedroom, fearing that he might be ill. There was still no answer to his knock, so he ventured a little way into the room. No Mr Norrell, but as he turned to leave, he noticed that a bathtub now stood in the bathroom, full of cold water, and a used towel was draped over a chair. 

With a feeling of vague unease, he returned to the library, hoping that Mr Norrell had finally gone there, but there was no one. He examined the room closely and noticed with a small shock that the fire was now supported by glowing logs and that the poker had returned. He started on a circuit of the room, trying to spot anything else that might seem unusual.

Mr Strange was convinced that some of the books that had been in the row of little stacks on the floor to the right of the fireplace were no longer there—but surely he was mistaken. With a gasp he spotted new groups of books stacked in several shelves on the opposite side of the room, as if they had been sorted. He was sure those shelves had been empty only a short time before. Or was he? He must be misremembering. They had been working separately, and there were thousands of books in the room. He could not possibly have kept track of all the work they had done over the past few days.

Baffled, he went into the kitchen to put together a meager lunch, which he did not bother to take into the dining room. As he carried his used crockery to the wash basin, he found it empty. He remembered distinctly that he had decided at breakfast to leave his washing-up for later. Well, no one but Mr Norrell could have cleaned those dishes and glasses, so the other magician MUST be about somewhere.

++++++++++++++

After eating lunch, Mr Norrell washed his dishes and decided that, as long as he was doing his, he would do Mr Strange’s as well. No point in petty resentments, he primly told himself. 

He returned to the library, as usual, and built up the fire. He chose a book to read, took off his shoes and put them on the floor, and sat sideways on the sopha with his back against one of the padded arms and his feet up. Inevitably, given the food and the warmth and the fact that he had partaken of a glass of wine with lunch, he fell asleep. 

A short time later, Mr Strange came into the room, reading a book as he walked. Barely glancing up, he moved to resume his seat at the central table. He read for a while and then surveyed the room, which was getting dimmer. Some of the candles had guttered out, and the drawer where a fresh supply was kept was empty. He realized that he needed to fetch more candles from the kitchen. As he stood up, he finally noticed that the sopha was gone, absurd though it seemed. Surely Mr Norrell could not carry or even push such a heavy piece of furniture out of the room. And why would he do so? That sopha directly in front of the fireplace was his favourite spot for reading.

He walked over to see what else might be amiss and found Mr Norrell’s shoes between the fireplace—which had burning logs in it—and the space where the sopha should be. He picked them up, as if expecting to find an answer in them, and then set them down again.

Magic. Only that could account for it. What spell had been used, though? What were its premises? And why had Mr Norrell done such a thing without consulting him? He was mystified. 

Mr Strange paced the room, looking back at the sopha-that-wasn’t-there and the shoes-that-were every now and then, but they did not change. Finally he made a decision and leaned back against a side table, his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the shoes. He soon became quite bored and convinced that this vigil would tell him nothing, but he kept on staring. At last he was rewarded when one shoe and then the other abruptly disappeared. Nothing else happened, so he turned his head to rapidly survey the books around the room and particularly the ones in the area where he had last seen Mr Norrell working. He gasped as he saw three books at once disappear from the top of one stack on the floor. Nothing further happened for quite a while, and he was about to give up when two more books disappeared. 

“Mr Norrell?” he said loudly. “Are you here?” He must be present, Mr Strange thought, but can he hear or see me? The notion that he himself might be invisible both intrigued and frightened him. How could he find out? 

He thought for a long time, starting slightly at one point when the sopha abruptly came into view once more. He could think of no test. Belasis’ Scopus occurred to him, but it could only detect magic, not tell what sort of magic it was. He already knew there was magic involved.

Mr Strange had to some extent divined the rules under which the magic worked. Things held or worn by the invisible Mr Norrell apparently reappeared at a set time after they were no longer in contact with his person, but how could he determine that time limit? He could note when Mr Norrell picked up some books and measure the time until they reappeared. But no, that was too cumbersome and imprecise. He had no idea where Mr Norrell was putting those books, so it would require a long search to find them once they became visible again. 

Another way occurred to him, a more practical one. He suspected that he was under the same spell as the other magician, so he could use the opposite approach. If he were to place something near where Mr Norrell was working, something very conspicuous that the man was likely to touch or pick up, he could use the hourglass to get at least a rough estimate of the time involved by noting how long it took Mr Norrell to notice it.

By now two more small piles of books had disappeared from the stacks near the fireplace. Mr Norrell was apparently going through systematically, moving from left to right along the row. Mr Strange looked around for a suitably noticeable object. Mr Norrell’s silver basin? He had not seen it in all the hours he had spent in the library that day. He went over and picked up his own basin and placed it atop a stack of books three along from the point where Mr Norrell had reached. The man was going slowly and presumably would not begin on that particular stack immediately, but it was close enough to be readily visible—and in the way of future work. The main obstacle he foresaw was that Mr Norrell would realise what he was trying to do and deliberately refrain from touching the basin. Why was the other magician doing this? The previous night he had agreed to help him find a way out of the fairy’s curse, but how could they cooperate if they could not see and speak to each other? The situation beggared belief. Sighing, Mr Strange turned over the hourglass and waited.


	2. Mr Strange's Bafflement

Mr Norrell woke up slowly from his pleasant nap. He stretched, feeling reinvigorated and ready to resume his task. He sat up and bent down to pick up his shoes. He straightened up again, staring at them. He had, of course, placed them neatly side by side, their toes facing the fireplace. Now they were at roughly a right angle to their original position and one was even slightly leaning up against the other. 

He realized that he must have slept for over an hour, if the shoes had become visible for Mr Strange to find and pick up, and then visible to Mr Norrell after he put them down. Perhaps Mr Strange was even then standing nearby, waiting to see them disappear again. Possibly he was even timing their disappearance. No, probably not, Mr Norrell realised, since the hourglass was still sitting, quite visible, on the desk, and most of its sand was heaped in its lower half. Still, Mr Strange might be nearby.

Well, why should he not be? Surely he had noticed the missing sopha and picked up the shoes. Perhaps he had seen other odd things happening around the house. He deserved to know their situation and was intelligent enough to figure it out. Mr Norrell wouldn’t try to hide it from his friend. Let him observe and deduce what he could. He decided to stop trying to keep track of what Mr Strange was doing; it was distracting him from his task. The whole point of the spell was for them to be able to ignore each other. Mr Norrell put on his shoes and went back to his patient removal of the books stacked along the bases of the bookshelves.

It was a slow process, carrying the books, checking them for damage, and placing them in the correct places on shelves where they belonged. He found it soothing work, despite the occasional discovery of a ripped page or a loose binding.

Half an hour later Mr Norrell surveyed the neatly sorted books that he had so far moved. Quite good progress, he noted with satisfaction. He turned back and stopped abruptly, blinking a few times. Mr Strange’s silver basin had appeared atop a stack of books!

Yes, clearly Mr Strange had begun his investigation, and very cleverly, too. He considered leaving the basin where it was and working elsewhere in the library. But what was the point in that? It would be rather unkind. Let Mr Strange understand the provisions of the spell. It would probably help them in their separate lives if they both knew about the spell. He glanced at the desk and noted that the hourglass was no longer there. Smiling a little, he walked over, grasped the rim of the basin between his fingers firmly and then let it go. Briefly he wished that he could talk with Mr Strange and explain how he had composed the spell and discuss what other uses it might have. Well, perhaps someday, once they had escaped from the Darkness, he could.

For a moment he stood, contemplating the silver basin. He wished he could at least see it disappear again, for he would for a brief moment know where Mr Strange was. But no, what was the point in waiting half an hour just for that if they could not speak to each other?

Mr Norrell slowly walked around his library, trying to savour the beauty of the carved bookshelves and the comforting, familiar furnishing that he had missed for long years. His return to solitary work at Hurtfew had not been nearly as delightful and comforting as he had hoped. Things were not as they had been ten years ago. He had thought that he hated the bustle of society parties and dinners and the demands of his many Admiralty projects. Perhaps, but they had accustomed him to somewhat more company than he had now. Maybe if he had Childermass back, sitting at his smaller desk in the corner and doing so many little things for him and talking with him when he wanted to talk … But he had been so foolish as to dismiss Childermass, and there was no way to reach him now. No doubt within a few weeks he would become once more accustomed to the peace and isolation of his beloved home, and he would get used to being alone. At least when he and Mr Strange succeeded in dispelling the Darkness, he could hire servants and possibly even find Childermass and make his peace with him. That would solve everything.

Mr Norrell dismissed these ruminations as he realized that he should communicate with Mr Strange, to explain why he had done the spell that would allow them to work separately. He walked over to the now-visible desk and assembled his pen, inkwell and paper neatly before him.

Mr Dear Mr Strange,

You are now aware of our magical separation, and I must comment here that you have gone about investigating it in as clever a fashion as I would have expected.

You must be puzzled by my reasons for casting a spell of mutual invisibility, but I think that if you consider the nature of our final exchange last night, I believe that you will understand perfectly. Words passed between us then that made it clear, to me at least, that we would not be able to work comfortably together. I evidently offended you with my failure to grasp fully your desire to be with Mrs Strange, and for that I am most sorry. 

Such disputes are not conducive to precise, logical research. I trust you agree. As things stand now, we are free to follow our individual lines of inquiry without fear of distraction or disagreement. I hope you see the advantages of such a situation. You must feel free to live here as if Hurtfew were your own, and I hope you will be as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

Finally, let me assure you that I shall now focus my attention on finding methods to dispel the Darkness and to allow you to rejoin Mrs Strange. My careful sorting of the books may seem to you a mere side project, but in my opinion, our best hope for the progress you wish is to find the necessary books and group them by type, as they were before. You must, of course, pursue your own approach.

I regret our inability to converse with each other. When necessary, we can continue to communicate by means of letters. That will inevitably involve a half-hour delay in the receipt of each letter, but it seems to me a minor disadvantage compared to the benefits we are enjoying from our current situation.

I remain yours truly,  
Gilbert Norrell

He read over the letter and decided it said everything necessary. He put it under a paperweight and left it on the desk. He stared at it thoughtfully and then went over to fetch Mr Strange’s silver basin. He placed it beside the letter. That should draw his attention to my missive if anything could, he thought, and went out to pour himself a glass of sherry and prepare his supper.

+++++++++++++++

Leaning against the table, Mr Strange was staring rather vacantly at his silver basin but snapped to attention and stood up when the thing disappeared. He checked the hourglass, the contents of which looked precisely evenly divided between the two halves. Half an hour, then. That was the pattern. So far, apart from the circumstance that they could neither hear nor see each other, that seemed be the extent of the spell, unless some other odd provisions made themselves known. He wondered for a moment if he might see Mr Norrell by casting a discovery spell with a mirror, but he doubted that such a spell could reveal Mr Norrell if he wished to be invisible.

He paced the library with long, quick strides, becoming more agitated every minute. Eventually he sat on the now-visible sopha and stared into the fire. Finally he decided to write to Mr Norrell. The desk had become invisible again, he noted as he stood up. Impatiently he crossed to it, facing it in frustration. Mr Norrell was probably sitting there at that very moment!

“Why? Why have you done this to me?” he asked the empty air in front of him, knowing full well that it was pointless. Not having the option to use the desk, he sat down at the table and wrote on the back of a sheet he had taken some notes on.

In these circumstances, what can you possibly say to someone? he wondered. And then he wrote whatever popped into his mind.

Dear Mr Norrell,

You can imagine—or perhaps you cannot—my indignation upon discovering what you have done to me. You may enjoy this little invisibility game, but I do not. But then of course, you are the one who controls the spell. You may call it off at any moment. I have no such ability, sir!

Why have you done this? And my God, it occurs to me that, although you are invisible to me, you might be able to see me! Are you using this trick to spy on me or perhaps to hide from me, if you find my presence so disagreeable?

Last night you said you would help me return to Arabella, and yet how can we work together under these conditions?

If you truly wish to help me, which I begin to doubt, I demand that you cast a counterspell to end this intolerable situation, to the benefit of both of us. 

Yours sincerely,  
Jonathan Strange

He considered for a moment and placed the note upon Mr Norrell’s favorite sopha before the fire. Both, he hoped, would be visible to Mr Norrell by the time the other magician returned from his dinner break. He decided he needed a dinner break himself. He went to the kitchen, giving it a suspicious but pointless inspection from the doorway before entering.

+++++++++++++++++++

After lingering thoughtfully over his dinner, Mr Norrell went back into the library, glancing around uncertainly. Everything seemed to be visible, so presumably Mr Strange was not present. He wandered about for a while, just to be sure no inconspicuous things had disappeared, before returning to the sopha to read a book.

Had he and Mr Strange been tangible to each other, they would perhaps have collided, for at that moment the latter entered the library.

Mr Norrell saw the letter on the sopha and sat down to read it. Mr Strange failed to notice the disappearance of the sopha and letter behind him, distracted as he was by the sight of his silver basin, now sitting on Mr Norrell’s desk. He crossed over to it. He noticed a letter addressed to himself, picked it up and perused it.

Someone able to see both of them as they came to the ends of their respective letters would have observed similar expressions indicating that both were appalled and saddened by what they had read.

Mr Norrell sat on the verge of tears. He had acted only for their best interests, and yet he had to admit to himself that casting the spell without consulting Mr Strange ahead of time had been very unwise. But really, he had been so upset by the harsh words Mr Strange had used to him that he had not been able to face the other magician. Now he had quite possibly destroyed their friendship, though no letter could ever lessen his love for Mr Strange. He suddenly wanted to see him, to apologise to him and do everything he could to make amends. Perhaps not all was lost.

He rose and rushed out of the library, heading toward his bedroom.

Mr Strange dropped into the chair behind the desk and sat with his open hand pressed against his mouth, breathing slowly and deeply through his nose and staring at the letter. How could he have misjudged Mr Norrell’s motives so badly? He knew full well that Mr Norrell had very little understanding of human nature. He realised that he himself had been so frantically intent upon finding a way to rejoin Arabella that he had perhaps alienated the one other person who was equally precious in his life.

He sat trying to let some of the tension that possessed him night and day drain away. Yes, he wanted to get to Arabella, but he could hardly expect that to happen right away. It would take time, and his best chance to succeed was to work side by side with a visible, audible Gilbert Norrell. He remembered how miserable he had been—they both had been—years before, after he declared himself not to be Mr Norrell’s pupil anymore. That same misery was plaguing him now, and it was his own fault.

Mr Strange gazed at the spot where the sopha and his letter had been when he last left the room. Mr Norrell was there, perhaps reading his letter, perhaps having already read it. He groaned in frustration at not being able to speak to him.

About ten minutes later the library door opened and Mr Norrell tentatively moved one step into the room and stopped, staring at him timidly. “Mr Strange?” he said in a quavering voice. He looked like he was poised to run out again and slam the door behind him if necessary.

Mr Strange stood up, smiling as best he could through his emotion. “I am so glad to see you. So very glad to see and hear you!”

“Are you, Mr Strange? I was not at all sure that you would be. I—ˮ

Mr Strange walked toward him, and Mr Norrell took a few steps forward to meet him.

“Gilbert—if I may—I accept your apology, and I owe you one as well. I was so intent on Arabella that I paid little attention to you. We had been parted for so long, and we did such marvelous magic upon our reunion! But you are right, careful, systematic research is what we need if we are ever to break this curse. Research side by side, able to see and hear each other.”

Mr Norrell suddenly embraced Mr Strange tightly around his waist and rested the side of his head against his chest. 

Mr Strange smiled, “Yes, and touch each other as well, when there is occasion to do so.” He returned the embrace. 

Somehow they managed to sidle over to the sopha and sit down upon it, still in a close embrace. 

Mr Norrell said, “Oh, Mr Strange, I was so afraid that I had lost your friendship forever. Even after only a day, I realised how much I missed you. I am so sorry that I cast that spell!”

“Don’t worry, Gilbert. In a way, I think it was good for us to be apart, though I would not have wanted it to be for any longer! I believe I was still a bit mad when I arrived here, the lingering influence of my wild attempts at magic in Venice. The necessity of dealing with the effects of your spell has distracted me from my obsession. I feel calmer now.”

They sat silently for a time, still leaning on each other with their arms around one another’s shoulders. Mr Norrell opened his eyes, which had been blissfully closed, and noticed how near his face was to Mr Strange’s. It would be extremely easy to kiss his cheek.

Rather than doing so, he pulled back slightly and said, “I know it is rather early for bedtime, but I am thoroughly exhausted by all that has happened across the course of this day. And I got little sleep last night. I was … um … writing and casting the spell.”

“I am quite tired, but not particularly sleepy. I shall stay here for a while.”

Mr Norrell hesitated. “Would you mind escorting me up to my room?”

“Why, have you been seeing mice about?”

“No, it’s just that I need a trifle more reassurance after that letter. I was so terrified by it.”

“I can imagine. I shall keep your letter as a reminder to me to be more patient and understanding, but I hope you will destroy mine.”

Without a word Mr Norrell retrieved the letter from where he had dropped it on the floor, stood up and tossed it into the fire. Mr Strange rose as well and smiled as Mr Norrell took his hand. They walked with clasped hands up the stairs and along the hallway to Mr Norrell’s bedroom. 

As Mr Norrell turned to face him and say good-night, Mr Strange said with a fond smile, “I hope you are very much reassured. Let us vow to put this episode behind us and to return to that happy and collegial relationship we had when you were my teacher.” 

He stepped forward and pulled Mr Norrell into what he no doubt thought was a suitably collegial hug. Mr Norrell meanwhile was dimly thinking about restraint and marriage and inevitable rejection, but the blood rushing in his ears somehow drowned his inner voice out. He stretched up and kissed Mr Strange, not exactly on the cheek but on the side of his jaw. Abruptly he broke away, not looking at the other magician as he said “Good-night,” ducked into his bedroom and shut the door a little too hard.

Mr Strange stood for a moment and then walked slowly back downstairs to the library, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed in thought. Finally he decided that a brief kiss between friends who had quarreled and made up was quite natural. He tried to put it out of his mind, and yet a thought insistently returned. Might Mr Norrell want him, carnally? It was an odd thought indeed. But was it really so odd? Mr Norrell had never married, after all, and he could not deny that he himself was considered a reasonably attractive man. 

That night there were two magicians in Hurtfew, each of whom indulged in an act of solitary pleasure. One did so because he had just spent several minutes in the arms of the man he loved, and the other only because he was feeling happy and peaceful and had just been reminded of the fact that he had not lain with anyone for many months.


	3. The Inevitable Consequences of Sharing a Bed

For the next few days, Mr Norrell followed Mr Strange everywhere. He was waiting in the hallway when Mr Strange emerged from his room so that they could walk down to breakfast together. When he passed things across the table to Mr Strange, their hands brushed together more often than would ordinarily be likely.

Things went a bit too far when Mr Norrell offered to help Mr Strange dress, though the latter did not mind it when Mr Norrell rearranged the chairs in the library so that they could sit side by side reading at the big central table. At times, upon returning after going to fetch a book, Mr Strange suspected that the two chairs had been pushed almost imperceptibly closer together. 

Yes, Mr Norrell was being a bit too clinging, but he was probably still feeling a little guilty over the invisibility spell. And being in the Darkness did tend to get on one’s nerves. Certainly Mr Norrell’s company was quite welcome in most situations.

+++++++++++++++++

One morning as the two sat lingering over their morning tea, a rather fraught silence fell. Mr Norrell seemed unusually nervous and reticent, but at last he took a deep breath and asked tentatively, “Mr Strange, might you … that is, would you be willing …”

“Yes, Mr Norrell? What is it you want me to do? Anything within reason, I assure you.”

“Well, I am not sure that this is a reasonable request. Would you be willing to sleep in my bedroom?”

“You mean, move my bed into your room? That seems very difficult, it being so large and heavy, and at any rate, I doubt if there is enough space for it.”

“No, I meant … sharing my bed. It’s just that ... I’ve begun to have nightmares of you disappearing again and my searching endlessly for you. I know it makes no sense, because I was the one who cast the spell in the first place. Still, people cannot control their dreams. I think if you were there beside me, I might feel reassured and not have such horrible dreams.”

Mr Strange watched his face intently as he spoke, looking for any signs that these nightmares were just made up in order to lure him into bed. The man’s worry seemed genuine, however, and Mr Strange knew that Mr Norrell was not very good at lying. He nodded. “I can understand that. We have been through a great deal. Yes, if you think it would help, I could sleep in your bed, at least for a few days, until we are sure that your nightmares are gone. I warn you, though, I do tend to roll around and fidget in bed, or so Arabella tells me. You might come to prefer having your nightmares!”

“I doubt that I will mind a slight disturbance, and I assure you, my bed is quite large. We need never, um, encounter each other in the course of the night. Indeed, we might wish to put a large bolster between us to ensure that we do not.”

“Yes, that might solve the problem. It might spare you some of my thrashing.”

“Thrashing?”

“Yes, when I dream I apparently move around a bit more vigourously.”

“Do you dream often?”

“Well, vivid dreams of that sort, perhaps twice a week. Seldom nightmares, though.”

“Oh? Good. Well, then that is settled. Thank you, Mr Strange.”

++++++++++++++++++

They slept together for four nights, a large bolster between them dividing the bed in two. 

Mr Norrell was relieved to discover that he had no nightmares under this arrangement. He wondered, however, if this might be because he wasn’t getting much sleep. He was all too well aware that Mr Strange was on the other side of that bolster, clad only in a thin shirt and his smallclothes—and that underneath his smallclothes he was entirely naked! Mr Strange had not exaggerated when he said he was a restless sleeper, though he never went as far as thrashing. Mr Norrell usually did fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion, but he did indeed begin to wonder if the nightmares might be preferable.

In truth, Mr Strange had not been sleeping well, either. Some of his movements came from his turning over and trying to find some position conducive to sleeping. But the bed was not the problem. His mind was far too active to let him sleep. It could not help straying in an imaginative fashion over to what lay beyond the bolster. A man of whom he was very fond-more than fond, he was beginning to suspect-and who quite possibly would be eager for the sort of interaction that he himself had missed for so long. 

He pictured Mr Norrell’s delight if Mr Strange took him in his arms; he speculated on the kinds of sounds Mr Norrell would make when his lips and hands wandered over him or when he took the man’s member deep into his mouth and slid his tongue along it. He imagined that stern mouth melting wetly around the shaft of his cock with long, eager kisses. Mr Strange even dared to think of entering and fucking him, though he reminded himself that Mr Norrell could barely be aware that such an activity even existed. Well, what of it? It was only a fantasy. He, too, fell asleep only long into the night, unsatisfied but too tired to care any longer.

+++++++++++++++++

On the fifth night this pattern seemed all too likely to repeat itself, as the first few hours involved no interaction but imaginary encounters tucked away in the minds of the two bedmates.

Then, suddenly, Mr Strange’s self-control snapped and he sat partway up, supporting himself with one arm. 

“Gilbert!”

“Yes, Mr Strange. Is something wrong? Was I snoring? I believe I do upon occasion.”

“No, I was already awake. I have been awake for some time now.” He stared at Mr Norrell, whose expression was hard to read in the candlelight. Suddenly he thrust his other hand over the bolster and gripped Mr Norrell’s arm. “Do you find this situation as frustrating as I do?”

Mr Norrell stared at the hand on his arm and eventually responded softly but clearly, “Yes.” A moment later he added even more softly, “Possibly even more so.”

Mr Strange sat fully up and grabbed the bolster, tossing it forcefully to the floor. He loomed over Mr Norrell, putting an elbow on either side of his chest and lowering himself to stare into his face from a mere three inches away.

Mr Norrell was breathing very hard by now, staring up into Mr Strange’s eyes. What little he could see there in such dim light made him feel both very eager and very nervous. “But what about your wife, Mr Strange? You urged me to have more concern for her, but now you—ˮ

“Yes, I know, I know. Over the past nights I have thought long and hard about this, and I have decided that I want you so badly that I …” He fastened his open mouth upon Mr Norrell’s neck, just above the edge of his nightshirt, bestowing wet, hot, eager kisses upon it.

Mr Norrell gasped and closed his eyes, putting his hand up under Mr Strange’s chin to unbutton his light shirt, hoping to caress an area that he had spent many hours, in the aggregate, staring at. He stopped, however, and opened his eyes again, forcing himself to reject Mr Strange by placing his hands upon the man’s chest (outside the shirt) and pushing. Fortunately for him, Mr Strange was much too large for him to budge in the slightest.

“You would be committing adultery, Mr Strange!” he warned, wishing that his voice sounded a bit more disapproving.

Mr Strange raised his head slightly to look into the other magician’s face. “I know it will shock you to hear this, Mr Norrell, but not all gentlemen are entirely faithful to their wives, even though they may love them very much.”

“Are you one of those gentlemen?” Mr Norrell inquired, now wishing that his voice sounded a bit less hopeful.

Mr Strange hesitated and sighed. “I truly have been faithful to Arabella when I am able to be with her. Yet during the war I spent years apart from her and shared pleasure occasionally with some of the officers in Portugal, I must admit. You and I are not in a war, but we are in a fairy’s curse, which may result in a similarly long separation." 

Mr Norrell took both comfort and distress from what Mr Strange said. He could understand why Mr Strange would commit adultery in extreme circumstances, but he was saddened to think that what they were about to do might be as casually undertaken by Mr Strange as the acts that he committed with those officers. 

But they were about to do what they were about to do, he had no doubt of that. His member was iron-hard, and he knew that Mr Strange must feel it against his thigh. His need was so great that any consideration of later heartache vanished, and he threw his arms around Mr Strange’s neck, pulling him down on top of himself.

At once Mr Strange was kissing him fervently, his mouth open, his tongue invading. Mr Norrell squirmed a little, not sure how to respond to such a kiss. Mr Strange stopped and whispered, “I’m sorry, Gilbert. This must be your first time, and I should not be so demanding. It’s just that you’re exciting me so much! And I seem to have done the same for you,” he added, glancing downward. “But I will take it slowly. At least that should make it all the more teasing and delicious.”

He resumed kissing Mr Norrell. At first the older man’s mouth moved uncertainly under his, but he soon grasped what the soft lips and gently invasive tongue were doing, and he began to reciprocate more confidently. His erection had diminished somewhat during Mr Strange’s first kiss, but it swelled again as he extended his tongue and flicked Mr Strange’s lips with it.

Soon Mr Strange’s mouth left his, kissing gently across his cheek. Mr Norrell wished that Mr Strange would return to kissing his mouth until he felt the man’s tongue swirl gently into his ear and his lips pull at the lobe and he heard the provocative, moist little sounds of those caresses. The sensation was surprisingly arousing and made him writhe against the bed.

Mr Strange paused briefly to whisper, “Does this feel good, Gilbert?” softly in his ear. 

Mr Norrell whimpered and gasped for breath before uttering a rather shrill little “Yes.” He managed to extract his arm, which was pinned between them, and slide it up behind Mr Strange’s shoulder to bury his fingers amid the unruly curls. His other hand pressed against Mr Strange’s chest, feeling the muscles through the thin shirt he had on and encountering the stiff little rise of a nipple. 

Mr Strange moaned and sat up, stripping off his shirt and smallclothes, and Mr Norrell hastily divested himself of his sleeping attire. They lay back down beside each other.

“Touch me again, Gilbert,” Mr Strange whispered.

Mr Norrell wished they had left more candles burning so that he could admire the beautiful body, but he pushed himself up onto his elbow and passed his fingertips lightly along Mr Strange’s torso and again to one of his nipples. 

“I love that, Gilbert. Play with them!”

Mr Norrell gently rubbed and pinched both nipples. This at least he was familiar with, since he had touched his own nipples that way when pleasuring himself. He savoured Mr Strange’s gasps and low whimpers until the man gently guided his head down to his chest. He took one of the nipples between his lips and sucked on it, flicking the little nub with the tip of his tongue. Mr Strange’s fingers skimmed over his back, and Mr Norrell shifted and hummed softly with pleasure as his lips drifted slowly up along Mr Strange’s chest and neck. Finally they seized his mouth. 

Mr Strange pulled the smaller body up onto his own. By now Mr Norrell was ready for something more, and Mr Strange slowly deepened the kiss until their tongues were struggling with each other for access and their mouths were wide open and pressed hard against each other.

At last Mr Strange slid one hand between them and downward, and Mr Norrell shifted slightly so that he could reach the swollen prick that was lying upward against his stomach. Gentle fingers explored its length. 

“Oh, Mr Strange, take it in your hand, make me … make me … I cannot bear it any longer!”

“You want me to finish you with my hand, Gilbert? Oh, no, I shall do something better than that. And I shall try to make it last as long as possible. I know you’re on the edge and it’s your first time, but you want me to draw out the pleasure as much as I can, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Mr Norrell replied weakly.

“Oh, come now, Gilbert. You’ll thank me later.”

“Will I?” 

In answer, Mr Strange pushed Mr Norrell down onto his back again and admired the stiff member standing upright, silhouetted against the candlelight. He slid down the sheets until his head was above it. He lowered it and licked delicately up and down the shaft, listening to Mr Norrell’s moans and pathetic pleas for more stimulation as he hovered just shy of that much-desired release. Mr Strange’s lips placed soft kisses along his length as well, and finally he drifted away to lick and kiss further, this time on the sensitive skin of Mr Norrell’s inner thighs. He was rewarded with shrill whimpering. 

Eventually he moved back up and circled the tip of the erection with his tongue. Mr Norrell’s heels scrabbled against the sheets as he sought to thrust upward, seeking any possible relief. Mr Strange shifted so that his chest lay across the man’s legs, and he placed a firm hand upon his abdomen as well. 

Confident that Mr Norrell could not push into his mouth, Mr Strange sucked on the top, caressing it with his tongue. Mr Norrell nearly sobbed with need and began again to beg him for more. Deciding that he had prolonged this long enough, Mr Strange pushed his lips further down, nearly to the middle of the shaft.

Mr Norrell groaned loudly and whispered, “More, please! Faster.”

Taking pity on him, Mr Strange’s head began to bob up and down as he sucked hard. Almost immediately Mr Norrell felt waves of exquisite, intense pleasure spread through his member and out into his loins. He grimaced in bliss and pushed his head backward into the pillow. He squirmed to the extent that he could, partially pinned down as he was. Mr Strange deftly swallowed and continued to suck, coaxing the last precious fillips of pleasure for him.

Lifting himself up off Mr Norrell's legs, he crawled up beside the panting, sweaty man. At once Mr Norrell embraced his neck and pulled them together as he kissed Mr Strange’s mouth and cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, that was … wonderful beyond imagining.” More softly, he murmured, “Even if we never do this again, it was worth it.”

“Worth it. Worth what?”

Mr Norrell looked down and finally said, so softly that Mr Strange could barely hear him. “Worth the heartache.”

“The heartache when we finally are freed from the Darkness and the magical bond between us is broken, you mean? Well, we must face that when we come to it. For now, we are likely to be doing this a good many more times. So, if you’re feeling recovered enough, I’d like you to finish me off as well. Please.”

“Yes, of course. I just hope I can manage it,” Mr Norrell said, sitting up and looking at Mr Strange’s erection, which was in much the same condition as his own had been. 

“Now, I don’t expect you to do it with your mouth, as I did. Not this time. But believe me, just using your hand would feel splendid, and I would be very happy.”

Mr Norrell continued to look at Mr Strange’s member. “Might I just kiss it and feel it a little? I wouldn’t put it in my mouth.”

“By all means, if you wish.”

Mr Norrell shifted downward until he was close enough to touch the cock with hands and mouth. First he felt it all over with his fingers, causing Mr Strange to gasp and clench his teeth repeatedly. Then Mr Norrell lowered his head, licking up and down the shaft. Shifting the erection back and forth with his hand, he sought to reach all sides of it, moving slowly and beginning to kiss it instead. Mr Strange keened softly as he felt Mr Norrell’s moist lips cling to the skin each time he withdrew. 

This went on for several minutes, as Mr Strange’s arousal mounted with exquisite slowness toward his climax. Mr Norrell was occasionally emitting little moans of pleasure.

“That feels splendid, Gilbert. You seem to be enjoying it.”

Mr Norrell’s fingers continued to slide up and down the erection as he said, “I didn’t imagine I could give you so much pleasure.”

“Oh, you definitely can. But do you like it?”

Mr Norrell slid one hand up and down the high-veined skin of the shaft and nodded. Mr Strange barely caught the movement, but the other magician’s eager resumption of his earlier kisses and caresses left no doubt that he was thoroughly enjoying it. In fact, he seemed disinclined to abandon that particular activity.

Finally Mr Strange grasped his arm and gently guided him up so that they were side by side against the pillows. Wordlessly Mr Strange drew Mr Norrell’s hand to his needy cock. He began to squeeze and pump it. Needing no instruction in this, Mr Norrell turned his head and leaned it backward so that Mr Strange, his arousal mounting, could plunder his mouth with a demanding tongue. Finally Mr Norrell drew back and scooted down slightly so that he could tongue one of the nipples as he stroked harder and faster. 

Mr Strange was groaning hoarsely. His arm pulled Mr Norrell hard against his side as he gave a cry and sent spurts of his seed up over his stomach and chest. At last he settled back into the pillow as he grinned up at Mr Norrell. His expression turned to a puzzled little frown as he watched the other magician put out a finger and scoop up a large drop of semen and lick it off his finger.

Mr Strange smiled. “You must have tasted your own seed at some point when you were young. All boys do, I suppose.”

“Yes. I remember not liking it much, but this seems nicer—at least, compared to my memory.”

“Well, given how much you enjoyed playing with that,” Mr Strange replied, gesturing with his chin at his shrinking member, “you are probably going to be tasting a lot of it soon. Yours was, ah, quite acceptable.”

They settled down in each other's arms and pulled the bedclothes over their naked, sweaty bodies as they began to feel the coolness of the room.

After a short, peaceful silence Mr Strange said drowsily, “I am so glad I plucked up the courage to get rid of that bolster!”

“Yes, you certainly are a very courageous man, Mr Strange. I never could have dared to do it.”

After a short silence, Mr Strange replied, “Well, you were not the one who had to make the decision.”

When he did not go on, Mr Norrell said, “About Mrs Strange.”

“Yes. I cannot bring myself to regret what I did decide. This night with you has been the most exciting, joyous one I have had in I can’t remember how long. And it’s only going to get better, as I show you other things we can do together.”

Mr Norrell kissed his cheek and thought sadly, “Yes, as long as we are in the Darkness together.” 

As if Mr Strange somehow read his mind, he murmured, “Do not think that I will put you aside when we find a way to dispel the Darkness. I want what we have between us to go on forever.” He sighed. “Somehow, I promise, we shall find a way.”

Mr Norrell nuzzled into his curls. “Good. I do not want to be like one of those officers in Portugal.”

Mr Strange hugged him tightly. “There is absolutely no resemblance between you and those officers—the main difference being, I love you.”

Mr Norrell swallowed hard, a tightness in his throat rendering him unable to speak. He correctly assumed that in this case, Mr Strange understood his motivations perfectly well.


End file.
